To the doctor that frequents strip clubs

I've never been one to sit still and let life happen. I have unending ambition.

So what am I to do now, now that I'm done trying for more babies?

The first part is getting comfortable with saying it all out loud. I have lost the baby. This affects people. Most people at work know now. Lots of women come up to me, tilt their head, put their hand on their heart and reach out to touch my shoulder. They say, "I'm so sorry for your loss." or "I heard you lost your baby, I'm so sorry."

Then there are the women that say, "Now your baby is in heaven." Which really, that's a sucker punch to me.

When they say that, I have visions of my babies in heaven. Like some alternative plane of reality or something. Then I start to think I can reach out and hold my lost babies, if I just cross over to that plane. Then I stop. Because my babies are dead. As in not living. For me to reach them I would have to be dead too. THAT'S when I stop thinking like this. It catches me completely off guard.

I don't fault anyone though. I can't imagine how tough it is to be near me, knowing and then having to say something. Part of my hurt smudged off on them. I want to say things that ease their pain. So I say I'm getting better. I try to model the 'healing with dignity' stance. And really, I don't take offense to any of it.

Some have been pushy with asking what happened. I don't want to tell them so I don't. They can shove off.

But, I told the whole story to the doctor who frequents strips clubs. This man is sometimes special to me. I've written about him here. Basically, he's my mentor. However, he's not that appropriate of a man to keep company with. I still like him though.

He didn't tilt his head or try to touch my shoulder. He just said, "Hey, how are you?" Then he listened. He didn't flinch or look sad while I talked. The entire story came a tumbling out.

Then, I said, "If I'm not adding babies to the family, what the hell am I suppose to be doing?"

Which is what I am facing these days. It's a whole new layer of suckage. There are no goals right now. So, I am still. Pain is seeping in all over my body. I have this cantaloupe in my chest, just in there. It's pain and loss and it's making me cry.

I could come up with ambitions, like running a marathon or climbing some mountain. I mean, I have physical goals. Back on the weight watchers. Lost 7 lbs so far. Down to size 14 pants.

I don't want to have these kind of goals. These goals can suck it. The more I tend to my health, the more I admit I had a miscarriage. It's taking care of my pain. It's hard and it sucks and I no want.

So I'm telling this to the doctor who frequents strip clubs. And I say, "My ambition level hasn't changed but I'm not sure what to do with it. What am I to do now?"

"Holly," he said with at twinkle in his eye, "You can do anything."

And with that, I knew I had told the right person. And OH!, I felt so much better. :)